


Reprise

by sciencefictioness



Series: Repeat [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Graphic Violence, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 18:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: “I have to go,” Hanzo whispers, quiet enough that someone else might not have noticed, but this is Genji.He’s been listening to Hanzo whisper in the dark all their lives.“You don’t,” Genji replies, just as softly, and Hanzo tucks his face into Genji’s pillow again.  It hurts when he swallows, like there’s something lodged in his throat.Like he’s bitten off more than he can chew.“I do.”  Hanzo breathes in.  Holds until it stings.  “But…”  He trails off, and waits for Genji to finish for him— he’s always been better at that.Finishing things.“But you’ll find me?”  Hanzo nods, and Genji sees it, even so far away.  “Want me to make it easy on you?”When Hanzo breathes out, it’s laughter.“You never have before, why would you start now?”Genji is quiet for a moment.  Hanzo can almost taste him.“Anija, I’ve always been easy for you.”Genji has always been everything for him, but it hasn’t been easy in a long, long time.





	Reprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lingering_nomad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lingering_nomad/gifts).



> There are a couple of Shimada clan ocs here by necessity. Hiro is mine, but Kou belongs to [ myth.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KRMalana/pseuds/KRMalana) If you want to get a better feel for him you can read [Reckless,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526254/chapters/41291843) which is set in the Unabashed verse. It fleshes out his character really well, and is one of my personal favorite pieces of my own, but it's not necessary to have read it to understand this piece. It is, however, probably necessary to read Repeat, the previous work in this series. 
> 
> Thanks to lingering nomad for commissioning this piece, I hope you enjoy!

They lay there a long time in silence, listening to one another breathe. Hanzo can see Genji when he closes his eyes; an afterimage seared into his mind through repetition, Genji ragged and smiling beside him. He can almost feel Genji’s fingers sifting through his hair. Muscle memory. The ghost of sensation.

A floorboard creaks outside the door, the sound deliberate. No one in a castle full of yakuza assassins steps there accidentally; Kou is looking for Hanzo, waiting for him to come out. He won’t knock while Hanzo is in Genji’s room, but Hanzo can hear him creeping up and down the hall. It’s something important, if Kou has come to hover. It has to be him.

No one else would dare.

“I have to go,” Hanzo whispers, quiet enough that someone else might not have noticed, but this is Genji. 

He’s been listening to Hanzo whisper in the dark all their lives.

“You don’t,” Genji replies, just as softly, and Hanzo tucks his face into Genji’s pillow again. It hurts when he swallows, like there’s something lodged in his throat. 

Like he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“I do.” Hanzo breathes in. Holds until it stings. “But…” He trails off, and waits for Genji to finish for him— he’s always been better at that.

Finishing things.

“But you’ll find me?” Hanzo nods, and Genji sees it, even so far away. “Want me to make it easy on you?”

When Hanzo breathes out, it’s laughter.

“You never have before, why would you start now?”

Genji is quiet for a moment. Hanzo can almost taste him.

“Anija, I’ve always been easy for you.”

Genji has always been everything for him, but it hasn’t been easy in a long, long time.

-

Hanzo is used to wanting the impossible— solitude. Freedom. 

Sleep.

He is used to denying himself, especially when it comes to Genji. As scion of the clan, he takes what he wants.

As  _ Genji’s,  _ it’s not so simple. Things are different outside of the warmth of Genji’s sheets, the quiet of his room. Things are harder, more complicated.

Genji is not there to ease them for him; Hanzo hesitates in the empty space where Genji would strike. He thinks of his father’s hands in his hair, wrenching his head back to look Hanzo in the eye.

_ No one is born worthy,  _ he said, irises red and teeth like knives. 

_ It’s something you earn. Something you  _ take.

Genji is better at taking. Hanzo is better on his knees.

_ Yes, father. I understand. _

All the scars he bears are for nothing if he leaves everything behind.

-

Hanzo stays in his own room at night. Waking up in Genji’s is disorienting— Hanzo is always reaching for him, and finding his bed empty. 

Saying he’ll look for Genji is easier than following through. Hanzo has told Genji a thousand times that his loyalties are misplaced; the clan, first. The clan, always. Everything else should be secondary.

They put Sojiro in the ground, and Genji took his hand.

_ You  _ are  _ the clan now, anija. _

He wasn’t, though. Isn’t.

Hanzo thinks of yubitsume. Remembers one of Sojiro’s lieutenants taking a tanto, and performing it on behalf of one of his men. Pressing the blade through the first joint of his pinky, sparing his underling the punishment. He remembers the vivid rush of blood on white silk. Remembers the sound he made, a breathy exhale, his own hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Hanzo wonders how much of himself he would cut away to spare Genji. How much flesh, how much bone.

Wonders how much Genji would cut away to spare him. Genji would have made a better first son.

Genji would cut himself to pieces for Hanzo, until there was nothing left. 

-

It’s the smallest things that end up catalyzing the largest; the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

The spark that catches fire.

Hanzo catches fire just outside the temple, back hours early from what was supposed to be a simple negotiation about territory boundaries, but ended with Hanzo’s hands covered in blood. 

Killing is much faster than compromise; Sojiro taught him that, too.

A mouthy second son, a self-important heir. Too much like a mirror, reflecting things back at him that he didn’t want to see. 

Hanzo found he’d rather clean up the mess than give them an inch. He didn’t start a war so much as finish one, leaving most of his men behind to sort out the rest. Hanzo had gotten his hands dirty enough for one night; getting rid of bodies is well below his pay grade. It’s how he ends up in the gardens alone, listening to one of the elders and his son having a hissed conversation near the shrine. Hiro wears Sojiro’s disdain like a mask.

Wields it like a weapon, when Hanzo will let him. Sometimes it cuts deeper than others.

“This is the third time you’ve come to me a failure,” Hiro says, disapproval dripping from every syllable. Words like blades, made to gut. He sounds so much like Sojiro that Hanzo wants to kneel, but only for a moment. It comes, and passes, and Hanzo flattens himself against the wall and listens closer.

“I am sorry,” Touma replies, and Hanzo can see him without looking. Brows drawn together, sitting seiza at Hiro’s feet. “He’s dangerous. We underestimated him. It won’t happen again.”

“He would not come back to Hanamura on a whim after all these months away. Genji is not the fool he pretends to be, and if he is here, there is a  _ reason.  _ I don’t want promises. I don’t want excuses. I want this  _ finished.” _

“Yes, father. I will see it done myself.”

They go their separate ways, and Hanzo stands there in the courtyard, eyes glowing in the darkness. There is an eerie calm flowing over him, a wave cresting high above his head until there is no sound but his heart in his ears. He closes his fingers around the hilt of his katana, lets his thumb worry at the silk. Something in him groans, and gives, shattering like cheap steel. 

He has answers to all those questions now; what would he do, how far would he go.

Hanzo would spill every drop of blood for Genji, and not just his own. If he has to bleed the elders dry, that’s fine. Genji was right.

Hanzo  _ is  _ the clan, now. 

Genji is better at taking, but Hanzo can learn.

-

Touma does not go by himself. Hanzo isn’t surprised; he would be a fool to try and get the better of Genji on his own. He is a fool anyway, but Hanzo knows what it is like to have your father’s words weighing on you, pressing you into the ground until there is nowhere to go but down. Nothing to do but yield.

He knows what it’s like, but understanding and mercy are not mutually inclusive. Hanzo can have one without the other. 

Touma and his men don’t stray far. Hanzo tails them to the outskirts of Hanamura, seedy restaurants and nightclubs interspersed with older architecture. There are men he knows he can trust— Kou and his brothers, some of his guards, but Hanzo doesn’t want to test it just yet. The time will come to see where everyone’s loyalties truly lie, but for now Hanzo goes alone. 

Touma pauses in an alley next to a rundown hotel to sign back and forth with his men, and Hanzo’s dragons tell him what Touma must already know.

Genji is inside, somewhere on the upper floors. So close to home that Hanzo can still see it, Shimada castle sitting on a hill to the east. It’s risky to come back when so many of the elders despise him. Reckless. 

Fearless. It makes things hard, but it also makes them easy.

Genji is always easy for him.

Touma and one of his lieutenants slink further down the alley, the rest of his men spreading out to cover the exits or sneak in the back way. Hanzo knows how they operate, knows where they will be, what they will do.

Knows exactly how to pick them apart. A day before it would have been hard to slit the throats of men he once called his brothers— Hanzo would have balked, would have hesitated. That was yesterday. 

Today he leaves Daiki’s body behind a bush. Throws Kenta in a dumpster. Leans Tarou up against a wall, slumped forward like a drunk who’s fallen asleep. Today Hanzo is through hesitating.

Today, he only has one brother.

Yori sees Hanzo coming, eyes gone wide and wild as he realizes who it is rounding the corner. For a moment Hanzo isn’t sure what he will do; kneel, or fight, or run. The end will be the same, no matter what he chooses. Yori was ready to draw his weapon on Genji, and there is no coming back from that, not in Hanzo’s eyes. 

He reaches for his katana instead of his gun. It’s a mistake, but there’s honor in it. Hanzo can respect that. Yori fights hard, fights for his life.

Hanzo pulls his body into an empty hotel room. Puts the pieces of him together as best he can, and covers them with a sheet. He’ll send someone for all of them later, deliver them to their families. There isn’t time, right then.

He has to get to Genji.

Only Touma and his lieutenant remain. Hanzo flies up the stairs, lets his dragons lead the way. This close it’s a simple thing to follow them to Genji, power humming between them like invisible strings. It wants to draw them together, always.

He wonders if it’s his dragons. If they are why he craves Genji this way; desperately.

Hopelessly.

Something in his blood that will never be satisfied alone. There are old stories that no one likes to tell, but they don’t forget them, either, don’t burn the scrolls; Shimada dragons coming together, refusing to be separated. Maybe there is truth in it, or maybe it’s an excuse. It doesn’t really matter. Hasn’t mattered since they’d tied him to an altar— put needles in his skin, bound him to a beast.

Hanzo is a dragon, now. There is no going back.

He finds Touma’s lieutenant in the hall on the third floor, flat against the wall beside one of the doors. Waiting for a signal from Touma, were Hanzo to guess. Waiting for him to climb in through the balcony so they can hit Genji from both directions. 

There’s a shuriken buried in his neck an instant later, an edge of blue glinting through the air before sinking deep. His eyes go wide just like rest, hands coming up to paw at his throat. He takes hold of the metal and pulls it free, falling to his knees as blood sprays in time with his heartbeat. After a few seconds he lists to the side, landing on the floor with a thud. The gurgling will go on for a while, probably. Hanzo doesn’t need to wait to know his work is done.

The door is unlocked, ajar. Either Genji left it that way, or Touma’s man had already bypassed the panel before Hanzo arrived. Hanzo pushes it open, panic flaring for just a moment as he catches sight of Genji. He’s got his sword drawn. There’s blood on his face, trickling from his mouth. 

Touma is at his feet, not dead but on his way, a puddle of red spreading out underneath him. He clutches at Genji’s jeans, hands gory and trembling; Genji shakes his grip off and makes a face.

Like he’s stepped in gum and it’s stuck on his shoe, nose wrinkled and lip curled as he kicks Touma’s hands away. All at once Hanzo realizes there is no fear in him. That there hasn’t been all this time, even as he cut his way through Shimadas one by one on his way to Genji.

There is only fury, living and breathing and eating into his bones.

Hanzo  _ is  _ the clan, and Genji is  _ Hanzo’s. _

They tried to take that from him. Tried to take Genji from him. All those hours Sojiro spent lecturing, Hanzo bleeding on tatami mats, and no one else was listening.

No one steals from the clan without consequence. 

Genji’s eyes light up when he sees Hanzo there, crimson smeared on his cheek, katana dripping onto the carpet. His smile is slow and feral, teeth bright white against the blood around his mouth. A predator more than a person.

He’s the most beautiful thing Hanzo has ever seen.

“It took you long enough,” Genji says, closing the distance between them to press himself against Hanzo. “I’ve been waiting.” He drops his weapon to the ground. 

Holds onto Hanzo instead.

“Forgive me,” Hanzo says, gloved palm on Genji’s cheek. It’s wet with blood, too, slides against his skin. “I had things to take care of, first.”

There is only Genji to take care of, now. There are no sirens yet, but they’ll be coming soon enough. One of the lamps in the room is knocked over, bulb flickering as it tries to give out, the door to the balcony hanging open to let the sounds of the city inside.

Genji kisses him hard, whining into Hanzo’s lips. His pupils are dilated when he pulls back, black eating up ethereal green. Hanzo nods down at Genji’s katana, and he picks it up, and puts it away.

He takes Genji’s hand, and they go.

-

The hotel they end up at is just as seedy as the first, only without bodies scattered everywhere. Hanzo makes a call, sends his boys in to take care of business. He apprises Kou of the situation as best he can— a ten minute phone conversation isn’t enough to address everything that needs sorting, but it’s all Genji gives him. He circles the building, checks their exits, pays off the clerks and the cleaning staff.

Then he crawls up behind Hanzo on the bed, hands slipping into his jacket and mouth on his neck.

“Hang up the phone,” Genji says, easing Hanzo’s jacket off his shoulders. Hanzo lets him, swapping his cell from one hand to the other as Genji tries to undress him. Genji sucks at Hanzo’s pulse point, fingers clutching at his tie to pull it loose. Hanzo has missed this— Genji’s voice in his ear, Genji’s hands in his clothes. “Kiss me, anija,” he murmurs, loud enough that Hanzo is sure Kou can hear him. Genji’s voice is unmistakable; Hanzo doesn’t care. He’s running on adrenaline, drunk on Genji’s touch.

He’s been too far from Genji, for far too long, and nothing else matters.

Let them listen.

“I’ll speak with you tomorrow. Until then keep someone on Hiro. He doesn’t leave the castle grounds without a shadow, and he doesn’t meet with anyone without you listening.” Genji kisses Hanzo’s jaw, the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll have him well in hand. I’ll take care of it.” Hanzo is about to hang up when Kou speaks up again, a grin in his voice. “Tell Genji it’s good to have him back.”

Genji laughs, tearing Hanzo’s shirt open, a button popping loose and bouncing across the floor.

“It’s good to be back,” Genji says, then grabs Hanzo’s phone and hangs up with a click. He tosses it to the floor where it lands with a clatter, utterly forgotten as Hanzo turns around and tackles Genji onto the mattress.

Genji’s smile is euphoric. He tugs the ribbon from Hanzo’s hair and sinks his hands into the strands, arching beneath Hanzo with his eyes alight. Genji kisses him, mumbling words into his lips.

“Missed you so much, Hanzo. You took so fucking  _ long, _ I thought…” Genji pulls back, almost grief stricken. “I thought you weren’t coming for me. I thought you just let me go.” 

Genji looks so hurt, and Hanzo wants to soothe it away. Say no, never, of course I was coming for you. But he wasn’t, really. Not until he heard Genji’s voice again, and realized he was empty.

Realized he was broken without Genji there.

He leans into Genji’s hands, and lets out a rough breath.

“I wanted you back. It’s hard for me.” 

Both of them are still filthy with blood. Genji brushes Hanzo’s hair back from his face, eyes wide and earnest.

“You make it hard, Hanzo. Father’s  _ gone,  _ it doesn’t have to be hard anymore. It  _ doesn’t.” _

Genji is right. It doesn’t have to be hard.

He can make it easy.

“It doesn’t,” Hanzo agrees, forehead pressed to Genji’s, eyes wrenched shut. “It won’t be. I won’t let the elders do as they please anymore, just… don’t leave me again. I need you with me.”

All their lives it has been him and Genji against the whole world, and Hanzo doesn’t know how to stand without him. Genji rolls them both, pressing Hanzo down into the blankets and kissing him again. He pins Hanzo’s hands over his head, squeezes his fingers tight. His weight is familiar, something Hanzo has memorized like Genji’s voice, or his face, or his silhouette. The cadence of his footsteps.

The rhythm of his breathing. The relief of being there, boneless underneath him, is overpowering.

All the scars he bears are for nothing if Genji leaves him behind.

“I won’t,” he says, green flaring to life in his irises. “I’m not going anywhere.” Genji slides his palms down Hanzo’s arms to hold his face again. “Just home, with you.”

Hanzo grimaces, an apologetic thing.

“That won’t be simple.”

Genji smiles at him— feral again, more animal than man.

“It will be simpler than you think.”

It won’t be, but Genji is better at that, too, in his element with a sword in his palm.

A sword, or Hanzo.

Genji takes Hanzo’s right hand, turns it until the tattoo on his wrist is visible— a stylized sparrow, shaded in black and vivid green. The same colors as Genji’s own tattoos, and it’s impossible to miss the implications. Every time he draws his bow, every time he nocks an arrow. Every time he throws a shuriken, or pulls a knife. When he writes a note, or signs his name. 

When he takes himself in hand in the shower.

Genji is with him, always.

Genji breathes in deep, breathes out slow.

“Oh,  _ Hanzo.”  _ Genji presses his lips to the ink, letting his eyes meet Hanzo’s as he opens his mouth and licks over his skin.

Hanzo cups Genji’s jaw, and pulls him back into a kiss.

Genji tugs Hanzo’s pants and underwear off and slots himself between Hanzo’s legs, never breaking away from his mouth. Palms his thighs, easing them wider, grinding mindlessly against him. It’s been months since Genji left; Hanzo is shaking, oversensitive.

Starved for touch like he hasn’t been in years, and Genji moans as Hanzo shivers, and whines.

He stops kissing Hanzo long enough to shove two fingers into his mouth before working Hanzo open— it’s rough, and fast. Hanzo arches into the sting, begging for it,  _ please, Genji, please. _

Genji has never been able to say no to Hanzo, mostly because Hanzo only asks for things in moments like this— when they’re breathing the same air, trembling against each other. He lines his cock up with Hanzo and presses forward, both of them baring their teeth at the feeling. Too much, too fast. It’s got Hanzo wincing, mouth open as he takes it. Hurts, just a little.

Just how Hanzo likes it.

Except then Genji stops, going still when he’s buried in Hanzo only to rock his hips lazily. Hanzo can feel the way Genji drags against him, the white hot stretch of it as he pushes in, pulls out, grinds deep again. Slowly, nothing like the frantic pace Genji has always set when they are together. It’s harder to lose himself like this, with Genji forcing him to feel everything, every little movement lighting him up with sensation.

Genji’s hovering over him, breathing hard, watching Hanzo’s face as he moves in him. His lips are parted, vivid red from Hanzo’s kisses. The blood on his face is dried now, nothing but rusty stains on Genji’s cheek in the shape of Hanzo’s fingers, and a pink smear at the corner of his mouth. Hanzo turns his face to the side and drops his eyes away, Genji’s stare on him a tangible thing. He cants his hips forward, trying to move in time with Genji, to urge him faster.

“Harder,” he says, nails digging into Genji’s back. “Please.” It isn’t a threat.

He just needs something to hold onto.

“No, anija.” Genji turns Hanzo’s face back towards him, stops moving until Hanzo meets his eyes. Hanzo’s flushed bright, chest heaving, shirt hanging open. It’s fallen off his shoulders, bunched up around his biceps. Genji runs a thumb over his bottom lip, and fucks into him agonizingly slow. “Easy.”

Hanzo lets out a sound that’s dangerously close to a sob, and Genji kisses him, and takes him apart. Makes it last, when Hanzo has been on edge for months now, desolate without Genji beside him.

When he finally comes he trembling all over, tears streaking down his face, voice raw from saying Genji’s name. Genji comes, too, but doesn’t pull out, staying snug against Hanzo even as he goes soft inside him. He nuzzles at his throat, peppers kisses across his collarbones, over the bites and bruises he left in Hanzo’s skin.

It’s too much, too close. Hurts, just a little.

“Love you,” Genji says, petting through the tangles of Hanzo’s hair and nosing at his jaw. “Tell me, Hanzo. Please.”

Hanzo pulls Genji down on top of him, and tucks his face into his neck. He doesn’t know what Genji needs to hear, so Hanzo says everything that matters.

“I love you, Genji. I’m sorry. Come home with me.”

Genji nods, face hidden in Hanzo’s hair, energy humming between them the way it always does when their tattoos are touching. Content, almost.

As close to peace as Hanzo gets.

“Yeah,” Genji says. It’s soft. He sounds young. 

His voice breaks.

“Yeah, okay.”

-

They shower together, water swirling pink down the drain as they scrub dried blood off each other’s skin and rinse it from their hair. Once they’re clean they fuck again, Genji lifting Hanzo up by his thighs and pressing him against the shower wall as the spray rains hot over them, bathroom filling with steam. His hands are slick on Hanzo, sliding as he grinds up into him, face shoved into Hanzo’s chest. 

After they dry off they fall into bed naked, both their swords leaned up against the nightstand, hilts crossed. The silk is stained irreparably; Hanzo will have to rewrap it, but there is no point yet.

Not with so much blood left to spill.

Hanzo lays with his head on Genji’s chest, eyes closed, tracing the lines of his dragon tattoo with his fingertips. Genji runs his hand up and down Hanzo’s back, turning his face into Hanzo’s hair now and then to kiss him. Sleep is tugging him down, but Hanzo fights it as best he can; it’s the last moment of quiet they’ll have for a while, and he is loathe to let it go. 

“How do you want to do this?” Genji asks. Hanzo’s fingers stop their idle movements. Genji’s keep sliding against him. “It’s going to get ugly.”

Hanzo thinks of Hiro in the temple, Touma on his knees,  _ I don’t want promises, I don’t want excuses. _

Thinks of putting Genji’s body in the ground. The scent of incense, the priest reciting the sutra. 

“It is ugly already,” he says, slipping his leg between Genji’s and nestling closer. “I want this finished.”

Genji is better at finishing things, but Hanzo can learn.

-

The castle is the same as always when Hanzo returns through the gates alone the following evening. The servants dutifully go about their business, guards making their rounds, elders and lower ranking clan members hovering here and there. 

One of the elders’ lackeys finds him shortly after he returns,  _ Master Hiro was looking for you, kumichō. _

Hanzo nods, and waves him away; of course Hiro is looking for him.

There is much to do.

Later he finds Genji in his quarters, laid out on Hanzo’s futon like he’s been there all along. Like he belongs there, swords still strapped on, tossing a shuriken in the air and catching it as it falls. When he sees Hanzo he smiles, tilting his head to the side.

“Is it time?”

Hanzo nods, and motions him over. Genji comes to him without hesitation, sliding into Hanzo’s space and kissing him. Hanzo takes a moment to sink into it, holding Genji’s face with one gloved hand, the other wrapped around the hilt of his katana. Genji is pliant against him; eager, obedient. Sharp teeth, sharp blades, sharp eyes.

The most dangerous thing Hanzo has ever seen, and he’ll do anything Hanzo asks, as long as they do it together; a monster at his beck and call.

Hanzo breathes through the power of it.

“Let’s go,” he says, and Genji is there at his back, ready to follow him anywhere.

-

There are men waiting for Hanzo in the hall outside of Hiro’s rooms. They are Shimada clan, but only in name. These are Hiro’s men, the elders’ men; they hesitate, until they register that Hanzo is wearing his weapons with a dozen clan assassins behind him. 

Then they don’t hesitate anymore. They draw, and wait; the loyalty would be admirable if it were not mired in betrayal. 

Hanzo reaches for his katana, but Kou steps in front of him, his men easing forward alongside them.

“I’ve got this, boss. If you’ll allow me.”

The dragon in Hanzo wants to do this himself, but it would be an insult to refuse, especially when Kou has never failed him or faltered. Hanzo nods, and then it is a cacophony of steel on steel and splashes of vivid red. It doesn’t go on for long.

Hanzo treads lightly around the dead, careful not to slip in the pools of blood spreading on the wood. He meets Kou’s eyes with one hand on the door and nods again, this time in approval. 

“Stay here. This one is ours.”

Kou nods back, his men spreading out through the hall; Hanzo doesn’t think there is anyone else in the castle willing to raise a weapon against him, not anyone who’s a genuine threat anyway, but he’s not going to risk it. 

Hiro is not the only elder who will die today, but he needs to be the first. Hanzo pushes the door open, leaving footprints bloody as he steps inside. Hiro is standing in the middle of the room, chin high, mouth a thin line. He doesn’t have a weapon, doesn’t reach for one.

Knows it wouldn’t matter. His days of wielding a sword with any kind of skill are long behind him, and he was never an assassin, anyway. Always sending others out to do his work, hiding behind his scheming. Sojiro was a tyrant, but Hanzo will give him this— he was always willing to get his hands dirty.

Ready to spill blood, when it needed spilling.

“Touma is dead,” he says. It isn’t a question. Hanzo nods once. “And his brothers?” They were not truly his brothers, but Hanzo knows what he means, gives him another nod. Hiro sneers for a moment, but then schools his face to blankness, and nods back. “I suppose it’s done, then.”

“Not quite,” Hanzo says.

Genji slips through the window behind Hiro, landing in a crouch before righting himself. Hiro glances over his shoulder; not far enough to see Genji, but he knows he’s there. There’s resignation on his face when he looks back. It’s an expression Hanzo knows well.

Inevitability. Death has come, and there’s nothing to be done but let go.

“One day you’ll look back and realize. The things I did, I did for you. For the good of the clan.”

“You’ve only ever done anything for yourself. You don’t know how to do anything else.”

Hiro lets the sneer roll over his face again, lets it settle in place.

“Your father would be ashamed of what you’ve become.”

Genji slits his throat between one breath and the next. Guides him down onto his knees, sword hand around his chest, the other on his face as he leans close.

“Our father is  _ dead,”  _ Genji says, right in his ear, before shoving him forward onto the floor.

Genji flicks his sword, shaking as much of the blood off as he can before cleaning the rest with the hem of his dress shirt. It’s white, mostly untucked. He’s not wearing a jacket, and his tie is a little loose, but it’s alright. Better than before, when he’d come to meetings in a band t-shirt and torn jeans popping his gum. He nudges Hiro with his foot, but he’s mostly gone still, little twitches all he has left in him.

Some of Hiro’s blood is smeared on his left hand, and he wipes his palms on his pants thoughtlessly. Genji is a mess, streaked with gore and rumpled, black roots grown out a solid inch under the bright green of his hair. He sheaths his sword, metal singing, and looks up at Hanzo with eyes like steel. Genji would cut his way through the whole clan if Hanzo said the word. 

Genji is vicious. Savage, and brutal, and then he steps into Hanzo’s arms and brings their mouths together. 

“Let’s finish this, yeah?”

Killing is easy. Genji is merciless.

Hanzo is in love.

-

There are fewer losses than Hanzo expects— most of the elders who had been conspiring with Hiro are willing to yield.

Willing to give up a flesh and bone instead of their lives. Willing to go to their knees, and press Hanzo’s knife to their knuckles. To beg Genji’s forgiveness,  _ I’m sorry, kumichō. _

_ Have mercy. _

It is Hanzo who has mercy, this time, but it will not happen twice. Not all of the  _ kobun  _ go along quietly with the shift in power. There are assassins who come in the night— for Hanzo, for Genji. Not nameless, exactly, but no one he’ll miss.

They put their bodies in the ground. Light the incense for them, let the priest say the sutra. Hanzo doesn’t grieve for any of them, but he puts them to rest all the same. It’s messy. Ugly, as Genji said it would be, but eventually things settle.

Hanzo and Genji sleep in the same room. It isn’t something they flaunt, but they don’t try to hide it, either. The servants come, and go, and learn to look away. There are stares, a few tense conversations— lieutenants with their eyes downcast,  _ surely you cannot mean to carry on this way, kumichō—  _ but no one wants to push too hard. Not with a handful of elders with their hands wrapped in gauze and Kou looming in the background like a storm. Hanzo is the oyabun.

Hanzo is the  _ clan, _ and he’ll do as he likes. Nothing is their business unless he says so, least of all who is in his bed. They’ve all heard the stories, as much as everyone tries to forget; stories about dragons, and how they come together.

How they seek each other out relentlessly.

Hanzo doesn’t need their approval. He only needs their swords, and their silence.

They will give it to him, or he will take it. 

-

It’s been a long evening. A long week, a long month. With the whispers of upheaval in the clan, their rivals have been testing the edges of their territory, trying to press in unnoticed. Genji had gone out earlier in the evening with Kou and his crew to take care of things himself. It’s been a while since he got to let loose, and Hanzo didn’t argue when he strapped on his swords and slipped out into night.

Now they are on their way back, along with one of their  _ kobun.  _ He’s proved himself competent enough to impress Kou, to be made an underboss. Tonight he had Genji’s back, and Genji is bringing him to Hanzo to share sake. It’s not something he does lightly— Genji has never promoted anyone this way before, has never insisted on it so vehemently. 

If Genji believes him worthy, Hanzo isn’t going to argue. 

It isn’t long before they arrive, Genji in front with everyone else trailing behind him. Kou, their new recruit right beside him, the rest of his crew fanning out into the banquet hall. Genji’s eyes flash when he catches sight of Hanzo— his clothes are spattered in red, his skin shining with sweat. He grins wide and devious.

Hanzo can almost taste the adrenaline on him, the frenetic energy humming just under the surface. The electricity in his hands, the want in his veins. 

The dragon in him, desperate for blood.

Desperate for Hanzo. He prowls across the room without hesitation.

Genji kisses Hanzo like there is no one else watching, face held in both hands as he straddles his lap. Hanzo grabs his hips automatically, palm sliding up his spine to pull him closer. It’s fast, and hard, but only for a moment. Genji pulls back, biting his bottom lip, pupils blown wide.

“Later,” he breathes, like it’s a promise, before climbing to his feet again. No one in the room reacts, save the new recruit, who stares at Hanzo and Genji, wide-eyed. “First things first. This is Hideyuki. You’ve met him before.” 

Hanzo remembers. He looks over towards him to find him blinking slowly, glancing between the two of them with a shell-shocked expression.

“I hear you took a knife for Genji,” Hanzo says. There’s blood on his sleeve, blood on his hands. Hideyuki startles, and then nods.

“Yes, kumichō,” he replies, stepping forward. 

Hanzo takes the sake gourd from the table and fills a cup, holding it out towards Hideyuki.

“Drink with me.” Hideyuki takes it, drinking only the smallest of sips. He passes it back to Hanzo, who finishes the rest, and fills it again. “Genji, too,” Hanzo says, handing over the cup with a nod.

They pass the sake back and forth for a while, until Hideyuki starts to relax, until they’re all warm and loose and smiling. Hanzo thanks him for protecting his family, for protecting the clan. Kou is quiet, but the approval his written all over his face. He likes this one, Hanzo can tell.

Then Genji crawls into Hanzo’s lap again, nuzzles into his throat, and Hanzo forgets everyone else exists. He sinks his teeth into the curve of Hanzo’s shoulder, tugging his tie loose with clumsy fingers. Genji smells like sweat, and sake. Hanzo buries a hand in his hair; holds him in place, and shoots Kou a look.

Kou gets to his feet wordlessly and inclines his head towards the door. Everyone files out— he has to tap Hideyuki on the shoulder. He startles again, caught staring, before stumbling to his feet and weaving out of the room. Kou nods at Hanzo as he follows, then disappears down the hall.

It’s only a few minutes later that Genji has Hanzo facedown on the table, kicking his thighs wider before pressing into him with a groan. The sake gourd has fallen over, ceramic cups rolling onto the floor. They fuck until Hanzo comes, Genji’s fingers wrapped around his throat, Genji’s face shoved in his hair.

Genji tugs his clothes back on and carries Hanzo to bed, their guards stone-faced, a lone servant offering a shallow bow as they pass in the hall. Genji is all heat and teeth and hunger,  _ fuck, anija, please.  _

Kou comes in the next morning without knocking. Hanzo throws a sheet over Genji, who’s plastered against his side snoring. They talk in low voices, and after awhile Hanzo disentangles himself from Genji, careful not to wake him. The castle is already humming with activity, but Genji will be asleep for a while yet. Hanzo doesn’t mind.

He kisses his temple, pulls on his gi, and tiptoes from the room. 

When Genji wakes up, he’ll find him.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


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